


Little Black Submarine

by sodium_chloride



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Connor is tired, Gavin is an asshole, Gen, Like, Maybe - Freeform, Multi, No Lesbians Die, Short Chapters, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, ah shit ok, but he's trying to be better, each chapter is ~1000 words, everyone eventually ends up happy, i'm taking my time ok, if you want a really long read this is NOT your fic, mostly dilaouge based, no beta we die like men, no gays die, no straights die, not really romance or shit either, ok it's going to be a long time, simon is coming, so is anderson, someone help jericho, this bullshit, to many goddamned songs from gavin's youth, tumblr regrets on gavin's part
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-04 10:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16344977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_chloride/pseuds/sodium_chloride
Summary: Little Black Submarine, operator please, put me back on the line. Or the story of a prick who is trying to not be a prick.





	1. Preface

Gavin Reed wouldn’t be described as one who was the exact definition of nice. Physically, socially, and mentally. 

Physically: there were dark bags underneath underneath his eyes, with equally as dark eyes that were a misty grey. His brown hair was a mess, with greying stubble dusting his chin and jawline. His shoulders were hunched down and under his heavy maroon hoodie, equally as much as his tired old jeans had patches of soft, blue-tinted white around the knees. The brown boots that he customarily wore have seen better days; for the steel toe was poking through them, and the laces sagged just like their owner. His fingernails were bitten and scratched, hands obviously not taken care of: white gauze was wrapped around his left knuckles, which were split open from confronting a suspect two days prior.

Socially: It wasn’t hard to tell how he was not nice socially. If it was from the constant sneering at his coworkers, or if it was the repeated swearing...Gavin Reed tended to push away those who got close to him, which leads to the last topic:

Mentally: Gavin tended to keep his walls up in arms. There wasn’t much to see beside a never ending pit of despair pickpocketed by a few lights. Of course, Gavin was careful to keep everything secret; yet there was one person determined to offset a positive domino effect- if his mood improved, then his social skills would; that meant that everything got less miserable at the station. 

The person who took it upon themselves to do this: Connor. Of course, the sweet lovable bastard would. Why wouldn’t he? It was predictable. 

But Hank didn’t think so right at this moment- Connor had been rejected and bummed multiple times by the other detective, and it was starting to show. His LED was blinking between soft blue and yellow, at a rate that alarmed Hank. He pursed his lips, stroking his grey beard deftly while glancing from Connor to Reed. He felt his own brow furrow, why was Connor even trying his luck in the first place? 

“Heya, Kiddo. Don’t sweat it, ok?” He finally said, reaching over and awkwardly patting Connor’s shoulder. “You need to relax about it. Gavin is and will always be an asshole.” 

Connor looked up. “But- adapting to human unpredictability is one of my specialties-”

Hank shook his head softly, feeling a tad bit of guilt twinge somewhere in his chest. Connor didn’t deserve such treatment, but that was Reed- arrogant, tired and a down right crab.

“Leave it, kid. There isn’t anything you can do to help that man. Reed is beyond hope.”

 

He was right. Detective Reed was a cesspool of bad ideas, wrath, insomnia and depression. Seeing a mutilated body almost every single day and then having to describe it in detail in the mountains of paperwork that followed. It was bloody amazing. Sarcasm included. In fact, Reed had hit rock bottom, but it was no worry. He brought his pickaxe and was willing to dig himself deeper while the hole filled with the reek of alcohol and tears. He could barely get himself up in the morning to take his meds. 

So it was no surprise that whenever Connor tried to pull his ‘adapting to human behaviour’ on Reed, it was no use. Of course, Reed always felt the guilt over how he treated Connor- like a rightout asshat. It was what he had to do. He’d rather hold up his ego and reputation as the resident asshat of the prendict then have people see that he let the little asshole of a Connor get away with tampering with evidence. Of course. 

Post-revolution Gavin was tired and depressed, but he had been less of a shithead to the Litunet and his plastic dog. Only by a mere little. Just a smidge. Gavin took comfort in that, knowing that no one would fuck with his personal business; for he just pushed them away underneath the facade of hating anyone. He didn’t want anyone’s help. He didn’t need it. 

Gavin Reed was fine.


	2. Gavin Reed and His Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, a soft glow emits from even the emptiest of shells. And maybe a tuft of fur.

NaCL

\-----------------------------------

Rain was a funny little thing. It came in small little shards, and yet, it managed to squeeze into everything that happens to be in its path. Rain was so beautiful, watching it pour down in greyish sheets illuminated by the colourful skyline of Detroit. That was, for people who were dry. Gavin was soaking wet, shivering and coughing as he knelt down beside a cardboard box in an alleyway. There were soft meows coming from the box, and he carefully pried the lid open to see a litter of five calico kittens, their eyes not yet opened, suckeling with their mother. The box itself was lined with a wool blanket, which was very rare in the age of synthetic everything.

Gavin could feel his breath hitch as the mother locked him with a stare, letting out a soft hiss. He flinched, then dug in his pocket for some jerky that he had left over from the day. Making haste, Gavin produced a sizeable bite and offered it to the mother, who sniffed it several times before licking it. Then she snapped up the jerky in a whole bite, eating fervently. She was obviously struggling to survive, even though this would have been her first night out in Detroit.

A note taped to the box caught Gavin’s eye. The writing (which wasn’t in waterproof ink, also very rare) was bleeding from the rain, but he managed to pick out what it said: ‘To whoever finds them: take care.’ That’s all it said. There was nothing more. 

“Ah, phck.” He groaned, looking down at the mother with her litter. “Some asshat just left yer out here. “C'mon, let’s get you dry.” Gavin grunted as he picked up the box, not caring about the rain anymore as he draped his outer leather jacket over the box, hoping that would impede some of the rain from the cats. He didn’t care if he was wet or dry anymore, but he had to get these cats home. 

Home. It was such a funny word to Gavin. People always said bullshit like ‘home is where the heart is’, but to Gavin, home was his small one bedroom flat. He’d lived there for ten years, and now anything else seemed foreign. Other than his mum’s flat in Chicago, it was home. 

Gavin knew it was home when he knew exactly where the stairs creaked, the familiar plaster cracks running down the side of the old spiral staircase. He took extra care not to bump the box, making it to the fifth floor before propping it up on one leg, jamming the key (Gavin didn’t trust bio-scanners) into the lock, jiggling it open until the door swung open with a satisfying ‘click’.

Carefully setting the box down on the counter, Gavin kicked off his soaked boots before almost running to his room, finding a decent produce box that he used to keep personal items in. That didn’t matter now. Gavin dumped everything on the floor, using a dry towel laid out on his bed to line it, putting in his own sheet made of linen, making sure the cats would be dry. Next, he grabbed another towel, before making his way out to the cats again. 

In the box, he discovered, the kittens had stopped suckeling. The mother was trying to warm them up. She looked up when she heard Gavin, who pushed the box at her. Carefully reaching in, he scooped up the mother and a kitten by the scruff of their neck, quietly sushing the others while he let the mother get situated before scooping up the other four and setting them down in the dry box. He might as well use the original blanket, so he just draped it over a convenient chair that was shoved into the corner. 

“There ya go,” He cooed, a tone of voice that Gavin hadn’t used in years, “Yer all good now.” 

The cats didn’t respond, they were just trying to get warm. 

Gavin took another look at the mother. She needed food. He remembered the salmon in the fridge, he had originally intended to grill it, but it would make fine food for the cats. His meal could wait, besides, there was cereal in the pantry. 

Gavin kept glancing at the cats, making sure they were ok. A small chorus of mews arose from the kittens, who were starting to warm up. He still kept his eyes trained on them as he sliced up the raw salmon into tiny chunks, enough to supplement the cats. 

His own body temperature was cold, but he didn’t have a plastic prick to tell him such a thing. Not like anyone cared anyways, but these cats needed to be fed. So Gavin fed them. 

If Gavin Reed could choose a way to live the rest of his life, it would be watching these cats nip and eat at the salmon, life finally having returned to their sodden coats. 

Life was probably easier as a cat. For a split second, Gavin wished he was a cat- but then he eradicated such a thought, thinking it was stupid. But it was okay to hope, and dream. Those were two such things that Gavin never failed to do, a soft glow in the hard shell of a man he had built around himself. 

Gavin Reed and his cats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> waaaugh i promise other characters are someing don't worry


	3. Infallible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some cuts look better than others, and still different to their creator.

NaCL

Alarms were one of the many things Gavin Reed hated with his whole burning soul. He hated the chime that came from his phone, momentarily thinking of smashing it before shaking his head, trying to get his hair out of his eyes. Such things were stupid. 

Squinting in the sunlight coming through his room window, Gavin could barely bear to rub the sleep from his eyes. His mind urged him to stay in bed; his limbs felt like lead, or they felt damn close to. 

Right. It was time to face the day. 

Gavin didn’t even bother eating this morning. He could probably grab some instant oatmeal at the bullpen. Gavin was tugging on his jeans when he heard a soft meow. 

Again- the cats. Right. Shit. Wait. They needed food. 

Grunting, Gavin snapped his belt closed and strapped on his service belt, firearm and everything. Then he knelt down, seeing a small kitten stumbling through the threshold to his room. A small smile tugged at Gavin’s lips as he scooped up the little cat, setting it back down with it’s mother in the box. 

The salmon he had set out earlier was all gone, so Gavin set about slicing up the rest of the fish he had left. While he was doing so, it was impossible to notice the disarray his flat was in: books everywhere (Gavin actually enjoyed the damn things, thank you very much) and the far wall had stickies with notes and papers, all about a main suspect he had been chasing a while ago. That man was now safely locked up, and will continue to be so for the next fifty years. 

With the cat’s food taken care of, Gavin filled up a rather sizeable bowl of water and set it a decent distance away from the salmon: cats had a natural instinct not to drink water next to their prey; for it might be contaminated. The mother was suckeling her young again, but seemed more relaxed. The kitten’s once sodden fur was all dry and fluffy now, and Gavin took the liberty to run his hands though the closest one before he withdrew, standing up and stretching fully. 

Why did he wear the same shirt twice in a row? Connor might say something, but honestly, Gavin could give two shits what Anderson and his plastic prick would have to say about it. To hell with it all! Gavin Reed would not stop or think to even consider anyone else if it interfered with any of his shit. 

Cold October air blasted Gavin in the face once he stepped outside. He blew some air out in a ‘haaa’ sound, watching the vapour billow out. Instantly, he was reminded of his absence of smoking. He wanted a cig. Right now. But he couldn’t, because Tina was making him quit. It was for the better, although to put it in the words of an old internet meme: he was here for a good time, not a long time. 

The drive to the prendict wasn’t exactly eventful. Only managed to break the speed limit twice (45 in a 30 zone, like, come on!) and was at the office within a good quarter of an hour. 

Now came the hard part of his job: the people. 

“Morning, fuckface.” He grumbled as he pushed past Connor, who was wearing a white jacket. Finally! The prick changed his outfit from that black jacket. Wasn’t he a deviant or something? 

Oh shit. 

Connor didn’t wear his CyberLife uniform anymore. Normally he just wore some sweater with a collared shirt underneath- so who was the android he just pushed past? 

“The fuck are you?” He snarled, looking up. This wasn’t Connor. Connor had brown eyes, and his hair was disheveled but still kept nicely in line. This fucker looked like pre-revolution Connor. Taller. Sharper jaw. And a goddamned CyberLife jacket- but on it’s breast was- fuck- RK900. What the hell? 

“Detective Reed. I am an RK900 unit, CyberLife’s most advanced RK unit yet. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

It held out its hand. Gavin just stared at it, eyes narrowed. He wanted to reach for his gun, but knew that could cost him his badge. Fowler didn’t let him live it down the last time he did it to Connor. Fuck. FUCK. Even it’s fucking voice was different! Where the fuck was the puppy-eyed kid voice? This thing. Shit. 

“Fuck off, whatever you are. CyberLife model my ass. You look like the tin can but…..fuck. Just fuck. Get the fuck out of my way.” Gavin glared at it hotly, before stalking away, feeling some sort of grim satisfaction that wasn’t so satisfactory. That….that thing wasn’t deviant. It couldn’t be. But why the fuck was it in the office? Did it step out of line or some shit? 

Gavin muttered another ‘hello, asswad’ to the lieutenant and the actual plastic prick. They looked up, and he could see the smile on Hank’s face as his name got shouted by Fowler. 

It. Was. To. Early. For. This. Shit.

“I fucking just arrived.” He grumbled, kicking his bag over to his desk and shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets. He didn’t need the pity looks from other people, and a righteous middle finger from Tina.

Looking squarely at Fowler’s face, Gavin gave him a simple ‘what’. He crossed his arms and leaned up against the wall, not sitting down. Gavin didn’t need to sit for a simple thirty second talk. About his attitude. 

“Reed.”  
“What.”  
“Reed!” Fowler snapped, placing both hands on his desk and leaning forward. 

“Yes.” Gavin was about to give a sarcastic sigh, but he withhold it. Fowler didn’t look like he was in the mood to be pissed of. 

“Your productivity has been astounding the last couple of months,”Fowler started, staring back at Gavin with the eyes of a shark, “But-”

“But what!?” Gavin cut in. 

“I’m assigning you a case that might, er, require another officer-”

Oh please, no.

“And I’m assuming that you met the android that has joined?” Fowler asked, gesturing to the thing that was currently standing right by Connor, talking with him. 

“The fuck does it have to do with me?” Gavin replied hotly, feeling his heart sink into an already deep hole that was supposed to be common sense and good-naturedness.

“That’s your new partner for the case. Suicide. Female. But we suspect something involving Red Ice, and we’re putting you two on the case. The android needs to learn what goes around in these parts.” Fowler replied smoothly, standing up. “Dismissed.”

Gavin was left with hot anger burning in his chest. How dare he! Being one of the best detectives and most productive asswads of the prednict definitely didn't earn him the bullshit that Fowler deemed necessary! 

“Hey, Detective. Heard you got assigned a hotshot android.” The Lieutenant jeered from his desk, while the other….Connors….talked with each other behind him. 

“Fuck off.” Gavin sneered, sitting down at his desk and leaning forward to read the case overview. 

Girl. 14. Suicide. 

Nothing suspicious, except for the several knife cuts that looked like self harm. 

There wasn’t anything off about that. 

Until Gavin zoomed in on the cuts. No person could cut at that angle by themselves. Someone else did that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah shit! Ok, not much romance, it's coming, I promise you.


	4. Sirens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some sirens are annoying. Some are beautiful, in an eerie way. Gavin liked tornado sirens. But come police sirens in front of someone who didn't deserve to die? That's asking to much.

NaCL

\--------

Gavin always hated the sound of police sirens. They were too loud, too repetitive. He hated them.

“Turn your goddamned sirens off.” He snarled to a rookie cop who was in the offending car. The officer looked up, eyes wide as Gavin stomped off. 

Wooden floors creaked underneath officers who were at the scene. To many officers. In the centre of the room was a body, hanging from rope that was hastily tied around the neck. The general scene wasn’t to bloody, except for underneath the body. 

These officers were not showing any respect. They were just milling around, doing their jobs, without a hint of remorse. Except for this one officer, who was just looking at the body. What was he doing?

“Detective, you should get to work.” 

Gavin whipped around, about to shoot out another insult when he realised it was his trash can. God, he hated even looking at the thing- everything that CyberLife stood for. Money. Power. Prim. Proper. Clean lines. The whole thing was an eyesore. It still wore it’s uniform jacket. 

“Fuck off, you.” Gavin muttered, clasping his hands before dismissing everyone. Fuck the police. 

“Alright, everyone out. I don’t need anyone messing with the scene.” One, two, three officers, then everyone starting filing out. Gavin smirked, this was the perk of building a bad reputation. People didn’t want to fuck with you. Everyone was gone except for the young officer. 

He was still standing before the body, mouth closed but his arms were pinned to his sides, and there was something dripping from his eyes. 

“Hey, dipshit! I told you to get out!” Gavin said, tapping his shoulder roughly. “Hey! Are you deaf?”

The officer didn’t look at him. His eyes were trained on the forearm of the body, where there were slashes. He pointed at them, then at himself. 

Gavin cocked his head to the side. “You do this?” He asked. 

The officer shook his head. With trembling fingers, he undid the velcro holding the sleeve of his uniform on his left arm, slowly lifting his sleeve. 

Gavin’s heart dropped. There, on the officer’s forearm, was the same pattern of slashes: left, right, left, left right.

Shit. 

By now, it was just him, the tin can and the younger officer (who was frozen to the spot). 

RK900’s led was spinning yellow, probably analysing the slashes and the officer’s scars. Dipshit. Didn’t it know anything about privacy and not creeping the fuck out of people.

“Dipshit. Stand over there.” Gavin directed, pointing his finger at a random corner. RK900 replied silently, walking smoothly over and standing rock-still, LED still yellow. 

Fuck the tin can, they had a case to solve. And the officer needed to provide answers. Gavin and his detective sense made a decision: they needed to question the officer.

Speaking of which, the officer didn’t seem to be taking it so well. His breath was shaky, and he was clutching his forearm tightly like there was no tomorrow. Poor chap looked like he was going to pass out. And it didn’t help that the officer was probably afraid of Gavin, because, well, he was an asshole. A very mean asshole. 

“Listen, we’re going to get you out of here-” Gavin put a hand on his shoulder, but the officer brushed it off. 

“No. I know her.” The officer replied, rolling his sleeve down. “She. She was a pawn. Forced to deal red ice, and take the cash. I’d seen it in an old case. Damn dealers took me and the girl hostage. A couple of other people to. Gave us markings. Guess they didn’t want her spilling. But they would have killed her a year ago.” 

Gavin looked over at RK900. He was supposed to be a walking supercomputer, right?

“Dipshit. Over here.”

RK900 obeyed, LED flashing a brief yellow before turning blue. He stood facing the two, hands behind the back. 

“Listen. I need you to survey the room. Anything. Red Ice, thirium, anything. Log it. Take a picture.” Gavin instructed, before taking the officer’s hand, running his fingers upon the pulse-spot. 

“And I’m assuming you don’t want to go back to the office right now, do ya?” 

The officer shook his head, and looked down. Gavin Reed wasn’t so bad. 

“No. I’m afraid that the killers will come back for me.” The officer replied, wiping his eyes. “I’m too young to die.”

That was when reality set in. Gavin narrowed his eyes, thinking. The insides of his brain hurt. So they had an active killer….or was it someone seeking revenge? And what exactly was this cop’s relation to the killing? 

“RK900, update the status of this case to homicide.” He finally said, crossing his arms and standing up. The body dangled in front of him, eyes pale and lips blue. There were fluids starting to build up in the abdomen. 

“And someone better fucking get this poor girl down.” 

Gavin then realised that there wasn’t anything, or anyone, in the room to order. Shit, oh well, that meant there wasn’t anyone to make fun of him either. 

“Tin dipshit, please get Chen in here and some people to move this body to a more dignified place. And perform a goddamned toxicology and forensic autopsy. Foreign objects, anything. Log it all.” 

RK900 just nodded and left, hands still clasped behind his back. 

“And you, sir, are coming for a drink with me. You got a name?” 

The traumatised officer looked up, meeting Gavin’s eyes for the first time. Brown. Dark brown. His lip had a scar above it and so did his eyebrow. Eye scars. Abuse. Flinching. Physical trauma.

But this person wasn’t just some random cop on a case. He was now under the authority of Gavin- Detective Reed- which meant that he was his cop- and Gavin’s responsibility. 

A responsibility that Gavin wasn’t willing to fail, even if he was the biggest douchebag of the prendict. Nothing ignited that monster, or fury, inside of him like seeing the effects of abuse…...all something he could have done to help. But now the fire was raging, with a desire to find whoever the fuck it was killing and punching these people and giving them a big, fat punch in the face, and maybe emptying a magazine in them as well. 

"My name is Officer Grenden, Detective."

"No, dipshit, your real name."

"Matthew. My name is Matthew."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo in case you haven noticed this fic is mostly dilaouge based. there's really no RK900 but he's coming don't worry your little asses ok? he gonna join them


	5. Mellow names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though a machine is a machine, everything deserves a name.

NaCL

\------

Officer Grenden’s day started at five in the morning, and is still going at ten at night.

He had gone back to the office with Detective Reed, feeling a pit in his stomach all the way. It didn’t help that the android was watching over him like a hawk; it’s steel grey eyes constantly scanning, collecting data that Matthew didn’t know how he felt. 

And then there was the Detective all together. Matthew had seen the Detective when he was in his normal habitat: mean, offensive and downright asshole. But this wasn’t Detective Reed. This was someone else. 

“Gavin. Call me Gavin.” The Detective had said, putting a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. Matthew had flinched, and Gavin drew his hand away, and has not made contact yet since then. 

This was Gavin Reed, not Detective Reed. Matthew had taken the android’s desk, sitting at the end while the android sat in it’s normal spot, constantly looking and scanning him. 

The android, RK900, seemed to have a mission to protect Matthew. And he appreciated it. 

During their lunch break, Matthew tried to make conversation with RK900. 

He was clutching a cup of coffee, more so enjoying it’s warmth then drinking it. RK900 stood across from him, hands behind his back and attentive, LED blue. 

“So….uh….do you have a name?” He asked, looking at the android’s serial number. Well. It was a machine. 

“I do not require a name,” it responded smoothly, “For I am a machine, and machines do not need names.” 

“So you’re not deviant?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Oh. Is that why the Detective said you were to stoic?”   
“It may seem so.” 

That was all Matthew got out of the android, so he gave up on the effort. Instead, he opted to do paperwork because Gavin had said he couldn’t go outside. 

Eventually, the sun was sinking into the Detroit skyline. Most of the daytime officers were packing up, and the nightshift had started to trickle in. Matthew didn’t know what he was going to do for sleeping arrangements. Maybe he’d lock himself in a holding cell. 

“Come on, let’s get you home, pisspot.” Detective Reed shook his shoulder, voice rough as before. 

“I’m…..I’m going to stay here for the night.” Matthew said slowly, turning his eyes down. He didn’t want to evoke the detective’s rage. “I’m afraid of going home.” 

Gavin let out a sigh, sitting down on the desk. 

“How about you and I go get a drink, yeah? Loosen up those nerves a bit. Then we can work on the case.” 

Alcohol, in fact, was liquid courage. And Matthew Grenden could definitely use some.

“Tincan, finish up the paperwork.” Gavin dismissed, making the officer stand up and head for the doorway. 

RK900’s LED spun yellow for a second before it sat down, doing as it was told. 

\---

A bar was a place to let out your fear, anger, and sadness. Just the ambiance of a bar was nice, a comforting place within strangers who were willing to talk. A place to relax. 

Matthew found himself sitting in a booth across from the Detective- er, Gavin, who was playing with a pencil and reading their drink list. His jacket was draped across his shoulders, and the problem of being in a bar with a uniform on was that people tended to look. 

“Don’t mind them, pisspot.” Gavin sighed, drawing a hand through his hair. “So, you’re officer Matthew Grenden, joined the DPD two years ago. So you’re not a rookie. Interesting.” Gavin inspected his fingernails, before picking the pencil up again. 

“And you somehow know the girl who got slaughtered. Great. Now, tell me where we can find this person.” 

Matthew gripped his cup. Should he trust Gavin? What if he turned on him as well? 

¨I need you to tell me exactly who hurt you, and why,” a pause, “And what happened to you.” 

Matthew tensed. He didn’t want to talk about it. 

“But first, let’s have something to drink. You need to loosen up more, and the plastic prick’s not here. So there.” 

The din of the bar filled the silence in between them. There wasn’t anything really to talk about, or anything that came to either mind. So they just sat there until a waiter came, setting a bowl of popcorn and waters down in front of them. 

“What can I get you two tonight?” She asked, smiling cheerfully. 

“I’ll have, uh, an Irish Coffee.” Gavin answered, before looking at Matthew. 

He shrugged. 

“And, a whiskey for him. Mellowest thing you got.” 

“Sure thing.” 

And she went away. 

Matthew fiddled with his fingers, watching the Detective silently. Gavin raised an eyebrow, questioning such things. 

“Hey, dipshit! What are you doing?” 

“Nothing, detective.” Matthew replied hurriedly, before looking over at the door- and was surprised to see RK900, standing in the doorway.

He didn’t say anything as the android walked over, hands clasped behind it’s back.   
“I have cleared all outstanding reports, Detective.” It said, standing in front of their table. 

Gavin looked up with a scowl, giving it the finger. “Jesus fuck! Are you a stalker or some shit?” 

“You did not specify any more orders, so I have returned to continue watching officer Grenden.” 

“Jesus fuck. Okay. Bloody Nora.” Gavin ran a hand down his face, before scooting over. “Just. Sit your ass down if you’re going to be a guard dog.” 

But Gavin wasn’t going to admit that Connor was much more enjoyable to chat with- at least he had emotions and jokes, this prick just had….whatever it was. A machine. It was something about the humanity of a machine- Connor was deviant. RK900 was not. It showed. Something about Connor’s quirks and his little coin game, to his laugh and smile just made him all the more bearable. RK900 was just a machine, who only took orders and did not question anything

Until now. 

“Detective, why are you interrogating officer Grenden here?” It asked, folding pale hands on the table. “It would be optimal to do so in an interrogation room.” 

Gavin gave it a side look, dismissing such a statement. 

“No, dipshit. Can’t you see this poor lad’s shook to his core? He needs to loosen up a but.” 

“Intimidation would work fas-” 

“Fuck you and your intimidation. I’ve only had you for one. One goddamned work day and you’re going full CyberLife. So shut the hell up!” 

RK900’s LED spun yellow for a brief moment before returning to blue. 

“As you wish.” 

Matthew glanced between the two, and was relieved when his drink arrived; something to do then observe the bickering between the two. He had his suspects that RK900 wanted to become deviant, but it was hard to tell.   
“So. Does RK900 have a name?” He asked slowly, and a bit quietly as well. He didn’t want to upset Gavin. 

Gavin raised an eyebrow, a smug smile tugging at his lips before raising his drink to his lips again. 

“What? Like dickweed? Asswad? Fuckface?” He replied smugly, winking at Matthew before elbowing RK900. 

“No, no. Like a real name, like, Connor.” He looked at RK900 again, watching it roll a coin across it’s knuckles. There were no marks on it’s skin, it was to perfect. Devoid of human markings. 

“I do not require a name.” It replied, emphasising require.

“Sure you do. RK900 is a mouthful. Nine…..” He trailed off, lost in the appearance of RK900 itself. “Nines. That’s a good name for now.” 

“Name logged as Nines,” Nines said automatically. It was still a computer. 

“Because, Nines, all good people deserve a name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm splitting this dilaouge in half k


	6. Left, right, left left right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some slashes aren't in fanfiction.

NaCL  
\------

Something about RK900 irritated Gavin. It had those grey eyes, those thin lips or the impossibly gelled hair. It was the pinnacle of CyberLife, an object that had been sculpted to appeal to the aesthetic hunger of it’s very alive and very impulsive human counterparts. It didn’t need to look this way, but some dipshit at CyberLife engineered it to be- so why? It was supposed to be a negotiator, a walking police force or FBI unit, not a seducing sex-bot. 

Oh well. Brother Kamski was going to hear it out from him later.

Currently, however, Gavin was trying to pay attention to the off-duty officer who was saying some very important shit about the case. 

“....and, however, the dealers move around a lot. I think they’re going to Chicago.” 

“Chicago. City in Illinois.” RK900 responded, now holding a packet of thirium to sip at different intervals. 

Gavin nodded his head slowly, writing that down in his notebook. “So, you think they’re going to stay there because of the police? They got a big storm comin’.” 

Matthew shrugged. “Who am I to say. I think the DPD puts up a good fight.” 

“Indeed. The DPD uses the most androids in its force than any other, even that of Chicago.” RK900 added. 

Gavin grunted. 

“That ‘aint such a good thing, tin can. You bots are taking our jobs. Unemployment is up.” He responded, but the edge to his voice had been smothered by alcohol- namely, the Irish Coffee which was almost finished, just a couple of more sips waiting to be consumed.

“So, the Red Ice boys are in Chicago. Right. And the girl’s body….tin can, have they done the autopsy yet?” 

“Yes, Decetitve. There are traces of Red Ice in her blood, and the lacerations have some sort of corrosive metal in them. They are currently running a test on those metals.” 

Gavin and Matthew both looked over to Nines, who was still sitting there with his back straight. It was a walking computer; then again, it was nice to have updates right there and then. No more waiting forever for those reports. The future is now. 

“Shit, okay. So we might be dealing with something bigger.” Gavin rubbed his face again, before drinking the rest of his drink. Matthew did the same, getting the memo that they were going. 

“Information logged with the DPD. Fowler now knows the whereabouts of the dealers and says he will address it promptly.” 

“Thanks, tin can.” Was the only reply as Gavin tugged on his coat, bracing for the weather. The bill was already paid, Gavin had enough money for that, he was no fool. 

“So, Officer Grenden, you got a home you feel safe at?” He asked, looking over to the younger man who was eyeing their surroundings. Again, he was showing signs of abuse- constantly flinching, speaking softly- and by god, the look on the poor chap’s face when RK900 had set down a small meal for him to eat. It was like he didn’t know what common curtsey was.

“Honest or the not honest answer?” Matthew replied, not taking his eyes off the street. 

“Honest. Listen, I gotta state-of-the-art toaster here who can monitor you. So you better answer me truthfully.” 

Matthew paused for a moment, feet shuffling nervously on the concrete before answering, almost as if there was going to be a punishment for telling the truth. 

“N-No….my wife...she…” He trailed off, gesturing to the scar splitting through his eyebrow. 

“But she says she loves me...and I dunno…anymore…but don’t tell anyone.” 

RK900’s LED spun yellow, before flashing red for a second. His subject that he had been assigned to protect was now in danger- and if he was hurt, he would be failing his mission.   
“Ok, dipshit, listen here. If you’re in a toxic or abusive relationship, you need to get the hell out of there. You got kids?” 

Matthew shook his head. His stress levels were rising. 

“Shit. Then. Fuck. You’re staying with me tonight, prick.” 

“Then I must accompany you,” RK900 interjected, “My assignment, from the Captain himself, said to protect Officer Grenden, and I intend to do just that.”

“There’s no way in hell that- shit, it’s only the first night.” 

Matthew watched the detective as he wrinkled his nose, thinking. Gavin was pondering all of the outcomes: was it really worth it? Would hitmen or fixers really go to find Matthew? One would, he supposed, to protect a multi-million dollar drug circle. That’s a lot of Red Ice. It was, in hindsight, worth a life or two. He’d be fired if Grenden got his ass killed. And god forbid CyberLife to deactivate RK900 for failing his mission.

“You got your service weapon?” 

Matthew nodded, patting his hip where he had a taser-batton and his firearm. 

“Good. We’re going to my place, but you, plastic prick--turn off your memory log thingy. I don’t need your superiors or some shit knowing what my goddamned flat looks like.” 

RK900’s eyes blinked, just once, and his LED spun yellow for a second. 

“That can be arranged.” 

“I want it done. That’s an order.” 

Gavin stalked off towards his car, a police vehicle issued back in 2034. The poor thing has taken a beating, but the blue paint showed true with a big ass ‘911’ on the backside. 

Matthew took a look at RK900, biting his lip in thought. Did it experience emotions even though it was a machine? It didn’t seem to bothered to have to follow this sorry excuse of a police officer around because some drug cartel was worth too much money. 

Interesting. But, then, at least he didn’t have to show up to a crazy wife that he couldn’t bear to think of when she was mad. Shit. She was going to be angry when he came home. But he was the police, right? Shouldn’t he do something, anything, about it? 

No. Not right now. 

“Alright, dipshits, are ya going to get in or what?” Gavin snarled, but his eyes said something else. Snow was starting to fall softly, a small dust alighting on anything that belonged on the surface of the earth. While waiting for the two to get in, Gavin watched his breath evanescent into the frigid air, just a small puff in a mighty big world. 

Damn. Their lives are so puny, why did they bother doing anything about anyone? Such is the chaos of this world, something that only a nihilist could say. Maybe Gavin was a nihilist. Wouldn’t it be nice just to sink into eternal nothingness? It was going to be great when he finally had freedom from this painful existence. Utterly amazing.

RK900 offered the front seat to Matthew, who politely refused. 

“So, Detective, where do you live?” He asked as Gavin stepped on the gas, gripping the wheel tightly with one hand and another hand flicking through the display to select some music.

He chose some late night jazz… ‘In a sentimental mood’ filled the car, soft piano overcoming their nerves. Most people thought a trash man like Gavin would listen to trash music, but he knew what was good for the mood. 

“This is the shit.” He grumbled, turning a corner rather fast. RK900 opened its mouth to say something, but a quick glare from Gavin silenced it. He knew his alcohol content was alright, and there wasn’t anything bad with his driving (besides going 5 over) so he didn’t really see a reason for RK900 to piss at him. 

It took several more songs before they reached a brick complex that looked like it had seen better days, small icicles hanging from the roof. 

“Get out, dipshits. Don’t touch anything.”

RK900 nodded, accompanying Matthew as they trekked to the entrance, Gavin swearing as he jammed his hand into the bio-scanner. It blinked green. He shoved open the door roughly, checking the mail before leading his guests upstairs. 

“Goddamned it-” A woman crashed into Gavin & Co. She had nasty long bleached hair, thin lips and a raised nose- and her eyeliner was the crusty thing. 

“Oh, Gavin! You finally going to have a three-way?” She sneered, giving him and his posse the finger. 

“No, actually, I have a case I need to solve. I’ll file you for assault to an offier.”

“Good luck with that, dickhead!” She snapped back, turning around and heading down to the steps that led to what was presumably the basement. 

RK900 logged that, before following Matthew and Gavin as they walked up the stair, footsteps making the floor creak and crack with every new footfall. His LED glowed a soft blue in the dim ambience of the staircase, softly illumanting the pale plaster walls around them. 

“Okay, here we are,” Gavin grunted, jamming in a key to a seemingly random door, “Home fucking home.” 

He shoved it open, dropping his possessions as RK900 scanned the smallish flat, noting his hobbies, habits and anything other of the sort. 

RK900’s attention was immediately diverted by a small chorus of mews, and was mildly surprised to see Gavin bending over a produce box lined with a towel and blanket. 

“Just- put your shit over there and stay outta my way.”

RK900 was unresponsive, studying the cats. Matthew had walked over, wanting to see what all of the fuss was. He let out a little coo at the runt of the litter, smiling as he picked it up and patted it carefully. 

“See, Nines?” He said, setting the animal in Nines’hands, “Being attentive to animals isn’t that bad. Maybe you’ll become a deviant yet.” 

Nines looked up, unused to being called his assigned nickname. 

“Maybe.” 

“Hey, asswads, check this out,” Gavin called, beckoning them over, completely ignoring the fact that he just told them to piss off, “Recognise this pattern?” 

RK900’s LED flashed yellow as he saw what Gavin was so excited about. There, on the flank of the mother cat, was the same slashes that adorned Matthew and the dead girl: left, right, left left right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit kind of a filler chapter but it's ok right?


	7. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plate cannot do the job a bowl does.

Legit, Gavin Reed didn’t get paid enough for this job. It always came back to haunt him, mock him and ultimately destroy him. Such was the life of any policeman; and something that androids were blissfully unaware of. 

That’s why he finds himself staring at the mother cat, who mews back at him. Her eyes are a mucky blue, but there’s some sort of determination in them. Something that strikes Gavin’s heart is very rare, but this….this is one of them. 

“Well, shit fellas, I guess I’m being paid overtime on this.” He finally conceded, reaching up and stretching to hide the fact that he was genuinely worried. Was Matthew a major piece in this puzzle? 

“Detective, I can notify Fowler if you would like,” Nines responded, putting a kitten back with its mother. 

“Nah, it’s fine. Just- hold on.” 

Several piles of books heaped mercilessly on the floor sang a sad song of shuffling as Gavin kicked them out of the way, casting a look at Journey to the End of the Night as it fell to the floor as gracefully as it was written. 

Reaching up, Gavin started tearing off the old sticky notes and string from the older case to make way for this one. A blank slate, if you will. 

He scrawled out the word ‘dealers’ on a bright red sticky note and slammed it in the middle of the wall. 

“Ok, look here. This is our suspect. And this-” Gavin set a sticky next to it, but this one was pink with the word ‘Chicago’ written on it- “is where they’re suspected to be. Now.” 

RK900 watched with a blinking yellow and blue LED, grey eyes ever surveying the Detective who was supposed to be working. As Gavin put up more stickies, connecting the cat to where he found the box, and to where the girl’s body was slain- right around the corner from the crime scene. 

Then came the issue of the patterns. Someone, or something, wanted to make sure they could identify it’s prey in this great big world….so they settled for the slash marks that adorned the cat, the dead girl and Matthew Grenden. 

Nines drew the conclusion that Gavin Reed was very dedicated to his work.

“And look here Matthew and Nines. See? Matthew here has a physco wife who might abuse him for a reason-”

Matthew looked up from the floor, a firm frown on his face. 

“I...I don’t think she knows where I got the scars from.” He finally said, rubbing small circles in the floor with his foot. 

“Sure. Maybe. But- listen to me. If she knew of what happened to you, she may as well have taken the opportunity to mock you and shame you- a police officer kidnapped by the very people he was meant to arrest? Sure! Mock him, and through him, the force.” 

Gavin stood back from the wall, seeing the three main ideas: Grenden, the cat and the dead girl. He nodded his head slowly as if the act alone could prove his thesis- but of course, the antithesis was Nines. 

“Detective,” it started, “I will now record this and upload it to the case file.” 

“Sure, whatever, dipshit. It’s getting late anyway and I need to get myself and pisspot over here up before the ass-crack of dawn.” Gavin shrugged. 

RK900’s LED flashed yellow for a second, before returning to blue. 

“As you wish.” 

Both humans gave it a look. It didn’t seem fazed in any way. What a machine CyberLife built. 

RK900 walked to a corner and started the process of going into stasis mode, sitting down cross-legged on the floor in a completely upright position. 

Gavin gave it a look before looking at Matthew, who just shrugged. He didn’t know anything about androids, he was a cop, not- you know, Lieutenant Anderson. There was a big difference right there. 

“And you, find something other than your uniform to wear.” He decided, after watching RK900 go into stasis. 

Of course, Nines didn’t plan on staying in stasis for long...but wanting to give Officer Grenden some privacy, he took the opportunity to upload his files and everything else before beginning his long vigil over Matthew.

Matthew, on the other hand, found himself wearing one of Gavin’s clean hoodies and sweatpants that didn’t sag to much. The left leg had ‘DETROIT POLICE ACADEMY’ on it in comic sans. 

“Get comfy.” A heavy comforter and two knit blankets were thrown in his general direction, with Gavin standing in the threshold of his bedroom. “Those are clean.” 

Matthew nodded, laying out one of the knit blankets like a sheet over the questionable davenport before wrapping himself in the knit blanket and comforter in hand, one of Gavin’s books in hand and ready to fall asleep without the threat of his wife looming above. It was nice. Being safe, or relative as that was. Reed wasn’t exactly the most agreeable person in the department, maybe even in Detroit- but damn, he did have a big selection of canned goods. 

That was the explanation for the can of corn that was now empty on the coffee table, a favourite food of Matthew’s. 

He was just starting to settle in and get drowsy when RK900 came out of stasis, eyes flying open and calibrating to his surroundings.   
Like a human. RK900, or Nines, was exactly like a human...but he? It? Wasn’t exactly alive. 

“Where is Detective Reed?” He said suddenly, straightening his white CyberLife jacket and standing up briskly. 

“I...uh, he’s outside,” Matthew responded, looking out to the balcony where Gavin was outside, leaning against the railing with a bottle of beer. 

 

Gavin looked over his shoulder to see the one and only plastic asshat. Something groaned inside of him, but he wasn’t sure if it was audible or not. 

“Detective, the amount of alcohol you consume is alarming.” It said for a start. 

“Bite me, tin can.” Gavin retorted, taking another swig of his bottle only to prove his point. 

“Then. I must stress it clear that my orders are to take care of Officer Grenden and that nothing- including you- is allowed to impede my mission. Failure to comply may result in being put off the case.” 

“The phck?” Gavin scoffed, raising an eyebrow and turning towards RK900, poking its chest, “Like you would know how Matthew really feels. Ever been beaten to a pulp by someone you love? Oh sorry, dipshit, but you’re a machine.”

Gavin’s breath fogged in the chilly night air, compared to RK900. It had no breath. 

“And what’s furthermore, he’s been followed enough. Controlled enough. So leave the goddamned kid alone- the last thing he needs is another plastic prick controlling his life once a good score starts. The least of which you could do is show a bit of fucking empathy!” 

The retort hung in the space between the two, no heat being lost even though it was single digits outside. 

“So do all of us a favour, and before you muddle in human emotions- well, get some for yourself.” 

And with that, Gavin turned around and slipped inside, leaving RK900 and it’s spinning yellow LED to contemplate the weather and thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our boi mrk900 learning what emotions are

**Author's Note:**

> please help me if you like this. i have no idea what i'm doing. chapters are short, but i'm trying. also i don't speak native english so yeah


End file.
